


Love Conquers All

by Harpalyke



Category: Original Work
Genre: Breeding, Creampie, Double Penetration, Drugged Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Impregnation, Infidelity, Loss of Virginity, Object Insertion, Ritual Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Against Orientation, Spitroasting, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpalyke/pseuds/Harpalyke
Summary: There is nothing more Rosemary wants than to be a part of the LOCAL movement. After all, what does the world need more than love? Until she finds out the leader's definition of love is very different from hers.
Relationships: Cult Leader/Teen Follower
Comments: 4
Kudos: 167
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Love Conquers All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redtwins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtwins/gifts).



The LOCAL was holding a meeting this evening and Rosemary was not going to miss this one. Tarjeet had told her to “knock it off with that stupid cult,” but Rosemary wasn’t listening, especially since Tarjeet was in Pennsylvania visiting family for the whole weekend anyway. 

Rosemary hitched a ride with a fellow Local, Bruce, a boy she used to work with but didn’t know too well. The meeting was held in the abandoned train station about a ten minute drive out of town, down a winding road surrounded by trees darkening in the dimming sunlight. To avoid any unwanted attention, Bruce parked in the clearing designated for the hiking trails, so they had to walk through the woods along the unused train tracks. Branches scratched Rosemary’s legs and dirt crept into her sandals, coating her toes. By the time the dark mass of the station beside the tracks came into view, she was stomping beside Bruce in a sour mood. 

She’d been expecting a crowd of maybe 50 people—the LOCAL movement had gotten quite a hold on the younger folks in a town filled with their elders beating into them that they were eternally damned. The leader, who went by Chaucer, was the replacement god, a more benevolent sort of guidance. Of course his coaxing voice and handsome face helped. If Rosemary had to have a heterosexual experience, Chaucer would be her first choice. 

Yet here there was no crowd and Chaucer was not standing on the platform, arms extended, ready to give one of his captivating speeches about  _ humans’ natural inclination toward love before it was stamped out by hateful adults and adverse experiences. _ In fact, Chaucer was nowhere to be seen. Only a row of unfamiliar guys stood in front of the platform, each holding identical glass bottles of bubbly, grapefruit-colored liquid. 

“What is going on here?” Rosemary hissed to Bruce, clenching her fists. “What kind of ‘meeting’ is this?” 

He stepped away from her, toward the others as if joining them in an ambush against her. She tightened her mouth, heated, but deeper inside was a current of fear. Here she was in the middle of the woods at dusk with a bunch of guys she didn’t know, or barely knew, in Bruce’s case. 

“Rosemary, you’ve been following LOCAL since its beginning, and yet you hover on the periphery,” Bruce told her, “so Chaucer has requested for you to be initiated properly.” At her raised eyebrows, he added, “It’s standard procedure. You could ask Mandy Ryan and her group—they’ve gone through it.” 

Rosemary was not going to ask dumb Mandy Ryan and her even dumber friends. They were fake Locals, still under their parents’ Evangelical thumbs, as evidenced by their reaction to her coming out last year. They’d quietly ejected her from the group, only jumping on the LOCAL bandwagon when everyone else did. However, at the moment, Rosemary had no choice but to go along with this “initiation.” Furthermore, a large part of her was hoping to make a good impression on Chaucer. 

“Well, alright, then,” she replied. “What do I have to do?” 

“Just relax for now,” said one of the others. “Here, have a drink.” He reached into the muddy cooler next to him, pulled out a glass bottle, and opened it before passing it to her. 

Rosemary took it and turned the label toward her to see that it was not a label but a heart painted on with what looked like white-out. “Is this alcoholic?” she asked, thinking of moonshine. 

They all laughed, setting her on edge; even Bruce cracked a smile. “Where’d you find this girl?” one teased him. “Nine AM mass?” 

If only there was a way to fight the blush blazing from her cheeks. In a poor effort to disguise it, she turned away and took a large gulp of the liquid from the bottle. Much more tart than she expected but without the tell-tale burn of alcohol. 

A loud scraping sound came from the platform, causing her to whip back around. The door to the old, cabin-like station had opened, but no one came out. 

One of the boys nodded to Brian, and Brian nudged Rosemary forward. “Come on.” 

She followed them up the broken concrete stairs, gripping the railing for support she suddenly needed. A woozy feeling had taken over—was she drunk? She didn’t feel drunk, just very lightheaded, like she would float past the treetops toward the stars emerging through the navy blue clouds. 

Inside the station was a great improvement over its moldy, shabby exterior. The walls had been recently painted a yellow-orange, decorated with spray-painted hearts and peace signs.  _ LO.C.AL  _ shone in silver above a leather couch where Chaucer sat, holding an unlabeled bottle of his own. 

“Hey there, Rosemary,” he greeted, giving her the slightly-lopsided smile that had so many falling to his feet. “You go to Highlands Regional, right? I went there, too.” 

Rosemary nodded, clutching the bottle tightly in her sweaty palms. Chaucer was a few years older; he’d finished high school when she was in junior high. Even then, back when he was just Charlie Burke, his reputation had been widespread. 

His eyes lowered to her dirty sandals and back up again, checking her out. There was something in them that burned her stomach and she didn’t know why. This was what she wanted, his attention, wasn’t it? 

“How are you liking my love potion?” He held up his nearly-empty bottle. 

“It’s great!” As if to prove it, Rosemary took a swig from her own bottle with such enthusiasm, rivulets of the “potion” escaped through the corners of her mouth and dribbled over her chin.  _ Well, aren’t you cute, _ she chided herself. Her cheeks were pretty much radioactive at this point. 

Fortunately, Chaucer seemed to have missed the blunder, still sizing her up. His smile was gone, she noticed with unease, his eyes narrowed. 

“You claim you are a devoted Local,” he said slowly, fingering the soft stubble on his chin, “yet you are dressed like you’re planning on joining the nunnery. How do you plan on exchanging true love with an outward appearance like that?” 

Rosemary blinked, her mind shutting down. Again that lightheaded sensation overcame her, messing with her ability to comprehend. This “potion,” she realized, had been spiked with something, but what, if not alcohol?  _ Concentrate! _ Chaucer didn’t like the way she was dressed. The solution was to—was to— 

“Bruce, help her out of that dress. She’s not with us at the moment, is she?” 

A chuckle and then hands on her, tugging on the buttons down her chest. Chaucer wanted her to shed her clothes in front of him and five other guys. This should’ve been at the very least concerning, but he was right: Rosemary was not there with them, not mentally. 

She shook her head, ungluing her tongue from her teeth. Though her brain wasn’t quite back on yet, words were forming. “No—no, I can’t.” 

“Shh,” Bruce whispered in her ear. 

“Why not?” Chaucer asked, looking more curious than anything else. 

_ Stop it, stop it. _ She should’ve slapped Bruce away. Her hands hung at her sides, useless, while Tarjeet’s pretty, eternally-pouting face flashed in her mind. “I have a girlfriend.” It came out garbled and like the most unconvincing thing she’d ever said. 

“Too bad she isn’t here as well—double the fun,” Chaucer answered, causing the guys to laugh. “Bruce, I don’t think you’ll get it off that way before tomorrow. Let her take it off.” 

Six pairs of eyes were boring into her, waiting for her to move. The walls were too bright, the broken windows a gaping black.  _ Get out, get out, get out of here… _ Her body wasn’t listening, doing the opposite. Her arms were rising, taking the dress with them, exposing her to the men. 

“Much better,” Chaucer encouraged her. “Now you are almost ready for training. Come closer.” 

“Training?” She took a step forward, holding her dress in a crumpled ball against her chest. 

“Yes, sweetheart, you must be trained to love fully. What good is the mind without the body’s response? Is it enough to just think of love without expressing it?” 

Before Rosemary could figure out if he wanted an actual answer, he grabbed her hand and yanked her the rest of the way toward him. She stumbled, crashing into the table in front of the couch with a squeak of surprise. He let go of her hand and suddenly he was standing beside her with his palm flat on her back, pinning her to the table. The scent of wood and dirt filled her nose, her bra was unhooked, and her underwear pulled off. 

“No, don’t.” The words were meek, drowned out by their jeers. She tried to get her hands on the table to push herself up, but once again, they were useless. 

“She’s even hotter like this,” Bruce’s remark came from somewhere above. “Too bad she won’t take dick.” 

“Not yet,” Chaucer assured him. 

Someone’s fingertips, presumably his since he was the closest, were running up her thigh, blocking everything else out. Held stomach-down with a sideways view, Rosemary felt her mind start to slip away again, leaving only vital functions like breathing and blinking and feeling this strangely gentle touch. The tingling through her legs intensified as the fingertips moved ever so slowly toward her cunt until they were grazing her lower lips, smearing her fluid over them. 

The air thickened with collective lust, including her own. The hand on her back moved to her left ass cheek; the other gripped her right, spreading them. Her labia parted and she could feel their hot, heavy breaths traveling through the room and into her. 

“No,” she whispered, but now that her cunt was spread like this, she wanted something to happen besides filling with arousal, dripping onto the floor. 

“Looks ready to me,” someone said, slightly out of breath. 

“She is,” Chaucer replied. “Bruce, since you’re the one who brought her, perhaps you’d like to be the first?” 

Nausea was churning in Rosemary’s stomach as she tried to stay lucid. It worked only intermittently: She didn’t hear Bruce’s response, but she felt his rough hands circling her hips, the tip of his cock poking into her slit. Wincing, she braced herself to break, yet he went no further. 

“It won’t fit,” he declared. “She is definitely a virgin.” 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Chaucer snapped, letting slip impatience for the first time that evening. “You just need to loosen her up, that’s all. Watch.” 

Bruce’s hands left Rosemary’s hips and a second later, she felt something cold and hard push its way into her cunt. The tip wasn’t narrowed like Bruce’s cock but circular, unforgiving. Rosemary squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering. “No, no.” 

“Shh…” Chaucer’s tone was much softer now, his hand giving her bare ass a pat. “Relax, sweetheart.”

Just when Rosemary was ready to take his advice, the thing, which she realized was an empty glass bottle, went in deeper, the wide half stretching her inner walls without warning. “Ouch, oh God, please, it hurts!” she bawled, trying to squirm away but prevented by a hand pressed between her shoulder blades. 

The bottle was withdrawn, leaving her hole sore and stretched. Bruce took the opportunity to mount her again, his greedy hands gripping her hips. This time, he slid in easily, filling her with a cock much smaller than the bottle. Thinner but longer, the tip rubbing a spot neither her own nor Tarjeet’s fingers had ever come close to reaching. 

Rosemary felt her muscles relaxing, her hands and jaw unclenching. Tarjeet had made it seem like dick was the enemy, only used to destroy women, but this felt rather good. Her cunt was slicking up again, letting Bruce all the way in. As he pumped into her, hitting that spot, his balls slapped against her clit, adding to the building pleasure. 

_ “Oh,” _ she moaned, cheered on by the others. 

“See? Now she is ready to give as well as receive,” she heard Chaucer say over the whistling and clapping. Rosemary had no idea what that meant and she was too preoccupied to care, especially when Bruce pulled out and let loose a stream of hot fluid onto her back. 

“My turn,” an unfamiliar one declared, and then a different, much larger cock was inside of her without the accompanying hands on her waist. Someone else was in front of her, clutching her head and lifting it until she was forced to prop herself up by her elbows on the table. Another cock was less than a breath away from her face. 

“Open up,” the guy chuckled, clasping her hair and jamming his cock into her mouth. Since there was no way to fight, Rosemary decided to just give up and let them plow into her cunt and mouth. If she was completely honest, it wasn’t bad at all, submitting, letting these men use her like a toy. 

Until the cock in her mouth moved to her cunt and the guy picked her up, holding her chest-to-chest, his fingers digging into her thighs. To avoid looking at him—thereby making this situation real—she buried her face into his sweaty neck. More hands were on her, spreading her cheeks. 

“No, no, no—!” Too late: Without preamble, the last guy who had yet to have her, other than Chaucer, was easing his cock into her ass. 

“Good?” the one holding her asked him. He grunted in response and the two began thrusting in tandem, pounding her ass and cunt until she was afraid she would pass out. Pain-laced cries barked out of her throat, her whole body alight with overstimulation. Release approached, squeezing her… Her eyes rolled back and her breath caught in her throat, cutting off her moans… And then she came, throwing her head back and sinking into pure white. She was only aware of the guy in front pulling out and her cunt spraying out juices onto his bare legs. 

“Atta girl,” Chaucer called through the din. Rosemary, still captured in white-static bliss, barely heard him. The one behind her was still propping her up and ramming into her ass. A minute later, it filled with semen and she was falling, falling… 

Her knees and palms slammed into the floor. She swayed in place, breathing heavily, wondering how long she could remain conscious. 

“Come here,” Chaucer ordered. “On your knees, that’s a good girl.” As if Rosemary was in any condition to stand up. Wincing, she crawled to his looming figure, trying to ignore the stinging ache between her legs. When Chaucer’s cock slid into her mouth, she accepted it, grateful that the rest of her body was getting a break. 

This was not quite a reprieve, however. Chaucer handled her roughly, grabbing her head and stabbing her throat with his massive cock, choking her. “Nothing like gagging a whore with your dick,” he told the others with glee. 

Rosemary’s eyes filled with tears. This was more of a frat party than an initiation to the supposed kindest movement in the world. They wanted her to believe this was _love_? 

As if answering the question, Chaucer moved back, dumping a flood of spit over her chin and onto her bare, bruised chest, and helped her to her feet. “Sit on the couch there.” 

She took a few wobbly steps forward, aided by his hand groping her ass, and collapsed on the couch. Before she could even catch a breath, Chaucer was rolling her over and parting her swollen cunt lips. “Mm, nice.” 

His cock followed, twisting up her face. “Please, it hurts,” she begged hoarsely. He paid no attention, though his thrusts were no longer rough and relentless. After an indiscernible amount of time biting back wails of pain, Chaucer increased the pace and began to speak directly to her, almost like the others were no longer there. 

“That’s a sweet cunt, yes. What a devoted girl you are, taking my love so well. Soon it will grow inside of you, within your fertile womb.” 

“What?” she squawked. In that same second, she felt more liquid heat rushing inside her, bursting into her womb and filling it up. “No, oh God, no!”

“Relax.” Chaucer stood up, shooting a look of triumph around the room while she lay spent, oozing milky white and shuddering. “Now you, a pretty young girl with no other attributes, will play a vital role in raising the next, stronger generation of Locals.” 

“No—I—oh, my—” Rosemary gasped and shook, fighting a panic that threatened to pull her into blackness. Her dress—she needed her dress—and air—to get away—

Finally, she grasped onto the cotton of her dress and gathered it into her arms. The feral wolves howled with laughter and high-fived each other as she bolted past, cheeks streaked with tears. Outside, the cool air enveloped her naked body, invigorating her. The effects of whatever was in that bottle dissipated.

Through the woods she went, trying to run and pull her dress on at the same time. She thought she knew the way back to the clearing, but everything was so dark, the forest swallowing her up. She had to start over. Turning back the way she came—or what she hoped was the way she came—she broke out into a run, took two steps, and fell to her already-bruised knees. 

_ Soon it will grow inside your fertile womb, _ Chaucer’s ugly taunt rolled through her head, followed by Tarjeet’s disapproving one.  _ Knock it off with that stupid cult. _ If only Rosemary had listened. 

She knew she should pick herself up and get the hell out of the woods, far away from those Locals—those beasts—but all her energy was draining out of her in the form of sobs, leaving her crouched over with her forehead against cool, damp leaves.


End file.
